


we'll get there

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artist Keith (Voltron), Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, It's basically shiro and keith learning how to be brothers, M/M, Nightmares, This is purely, adam meets keith, alright that's all the tags i got, broganes, but they're kids so it's just keith with a lil crush, implied klance, shiro adopts keith, they have the coming out talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: “Maybe Keith wants to leave,” he murmurs to himself, like an afterthought that sends a fleeting jolt of panic through his chest.Something about that is apparently funny, because Adam lets out a huff of laughter and shakes his head, adjusting his glasses. “Are you kidding?”Shiro frowns at him. “I’m being serious.”Adam mostly ignores him. “Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”“What?”“He’s always watching you, when you’re not looking.”





	we'll get there

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!
> 
> This is the extended version of my piece for the [Cosmic Dust Zine](https://gumroad.com/l/cosmicdustzine), a VLD fanzine centered around found family, and all of the donations go to the [True Colors United Fund](https://truecolorsunited.org/)! You can find more information on their page, but to summarize, they work to help LGBT+ youth living on the streets. Other than that, the zine is totally free! You can download it [here](https://gumroad.com/l/cosmicdustzine). 
> 
> I was a mod and a writer for the zine myself! If you want to donate, you can either do that when you download the zine on Gumroad, or you can directly donate to the Fund on our team page [here](https://my.truecolorsunited.org/team/217114)! There are a lot of awesome people who worked on the zine, all of them safe artists and writers (meaning no NSFW, no shaladin ships, controversial ships, etc. so that everyone would be comfortable!). You can also find more information about the zine in general on our Tumblr page [here](https://www.cosmicdustzine.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Anyway! My piece! This is a 5+1 Broganes piece that basically centers around the idea of Shiro adopting Keith when he's young, and all of the fear and excitement and anticipation that comes with learning how to interact and set boundaries and trust. AND! I had the opportunity and complete honor to collab with Angela (@stellalights)! You can see her piece on Tumblr [here](https://stellalights.tumblr.com/post/184715038780/my-full-piece-for-the-cosmicdustzine-i), Instagram [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BxKsK3HA00s/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link), and Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/stelllalights/status/1125789199272116225)!
> 
> I also had to update some of the tags because I legit had no idea that "/" implies a romantic relationship while "&" implies a platonic relationship but ANYWAY all is well this is PURELY Broganes content

**1.**

Shiro knows approximately three things about Keith Kogane.

       One: he’s (almost) ten years old.

       Two: his mother left when he was only a baby, his father died in a fire when he was just six, and he’s been bouncing around the foster care system ever since.

       Three: he doesn’t talk very much.

But for a kid who’s hardly spoken a complete sentence since Shiro has known him, the foster care agency sure had some strong opinions about him.

“He’s a bit of problem child,” the officer had said, in that way that’s supposed to be understanding but comes across condescending. “Has a temper, difficult to deal with, tends to fall behind in school. Doesn’t like to cooperate. None of the families who’ve taken him in the past have kept him for very long.” And then she’d sighed, and adjusted her glasses and shuffled the papers in her file. “He simply won’t behave. There are others his age. You might find one of them easier to handle.”

Shiro had—a lot to say to that. Things like: _pardon me ma’am, but where did you get your education?_ And _since when are orphaned children just_ things _that get passed around every time someone gets tired of them?_ And _are you really trying to talk me_ out _of providing a disadvantaged child with a home?_

He’d settled for a more polite, less confrontational approach. “He’s just a kid.”

“A troubled kid,” she’d replied, folding her hands with her annoyingly brightly painted nails on her desk and studying him over the annoyingly thick rims of her glasses. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Shiro had kind of wanted to punch her in the face. But instead he had just smiled, and politely assured her that he had considered the “consequences,” but he was sure this was the decision he wanted to make.

An hour later, and there was a little boy sitting in the backseat of his car, elbow propped against the window and chin propped in his hand to look outside while Shiro finished speaking with the agent. She’d tried to shake his hand. Shiro observed her outstretched fingers and wondered if this was customary, or if she was just glad to be getting rid of the so-called “problem” child. Again.

“This isn’t a business interaction,” he’d replied at last, and then promptly climbed into his car and pulled out of the parking lot without looking back.

And so he takes Keith to see his new home for what he thinks—hopes—will be the last first time.

The thing is, the Keith that Shiro knows has never been anything like the unpredictable, temperamental, disobedient boy that the agency seemed to be so concerned about. From what limited interactions they’d had prior, Keith was practically the opposite. At the very least, he’s compliant. Resigned, and quiet, like years spent unwanted and ignored has taught him that his voice doesn’t matter.

Which brings Shiro back to thing number three that he knows about Keith: he doesn’t talk very much. So although he’s not surprised that Keith hasn’t said a single word since he clambered into the car with his single little suitcase in tow, Shiro—chatty, cheery, charming Shiro—isn’t quite sure how to handle the silence.

The radio’s volume is turned down to its lowest setting, and yet it still feels too loud and out of place. But Keith seems as indifferent as always, content to watch the summer green of the trees and fading paint of the neighborhood homes whirl by. Shiro can’t quite decide if he’d describe Keith’s expression as blank, or simply unreadable. Either he’s been reprimanded for his emotions so many times that he’s learned not to feel them, or he’s had so much practice hiding them that it’s become second nature.

Shiro doesn’t particularly like the idea of either.

To be fair, Shiro hadn’t exactly been quick to decide he wanted to take Keith in. It’s a process, of course, takes a lot of time and consideration and effort on both sides, all of which Shiro was completely willing to give—but Keith didn’t particularly reciprocate the sentiment.

“I don’t know,” Shiro had said one night, draped over the entirety of the little couch in the little living room of Adam’s little apartment. “I’m trying, I really am. He just seems so distant, you know? I don’t think he wants to get close to anyone.”

Adam leaned his forearms against the cushions and peered at him over the side of the couch, glasses perched on the top of his head. “Have you ever heard of attachment theory?”

Shiro squinted up at him. “What?”

“Attachment theory,” Adam repeated, a slight slant to his mouth because he likes when he knows things that Shiro doesn’t. “There are different types of each, but they say you develop either secure or insecure attachment styles depending on your childhood experience.”

“Are you really trying to psychoanalyze me right now?”

Adam flicked his head and Shiro squawked indignantly. “The kid, dummy. You said his mom left when he was a baby?”

“Yes,” Shiro sighed.

“And his dad died when he was six.”

“Uh huh.”

“And he’s been moving around the foster care system without a stable home environment for the past three years.”

Shiro blinked. “He—yes, that’s right.”

“So it seems to me,” Adam hummed, leaning a bit further over the edge. “He hasn’t had anyone to show him _how_ to be close to anyone.”

It had gone quiet, then, while Shiro considered this. But only for a moment, because soon after, Adam’s face softened, and he tilted his head to match Shiro’s.

“You really want to do this, don’t you?”

And Shiro had taken a breath, and looked at him, and said: “Yeah, I do. I really, really do.”

Keith is quiet, as they pull into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

He’s quiet, as he follows Shiro up the steps to the third floor and waits for him to unlock the door.

And he’s quiet, as Shiro systematically leads him through a small tour of his new home that concludes with the small bedroom at the end of the hall.

Shiro watches him as he steps into the room, coming to a stop in the center and taking a slow look around at the sparsely decorated walls and mostly empty bookshelf and tidied bed. He thinks that Keith looks small, standing there in the middle of an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar place and only a tiny suitcase to remind him of where he’d come from.

“Is this okay?” Shiro finds himself asking.

A shrug. Nothing haughty, or snobbish, just—impartial. Completely, genuinely, indifferent.

Shiro shifts his weight and clears his throat awkwardly. “Do you want help unpacking?”

A shake of his head.

“Okay.” Shiro drums his fingers on the threshold. “Let me know if you need anything.”

When he peers into Keith’s room later that night before bed, he can’t help but notice that his suitcase is tucked away against the far wall. Its contents remain unpacked.

He wonders if it’s because Keith doesn’t think he’ll stay.

 

**2.**

It’s the second week of school.

Shiro gets a call.

Keith’s teacher is—nice. Visibly confused, when Shiro is the one to walk through the door of her office, but nice all the same.

“Mr. Shirogane?”

He smiles nervously, shaking her outstretched hand. “That’s me.”

Her gaze drifts toward Keith, who’s sitting quietly in one of the chairs in front of her desk,  eyes cast downward and hands in his lap. “Are you his—”

“Guardian,” Shiro finishes quickly, and her eyebrows shoot up in realization and she makes a silent “o” with her mouth, gaze flicking back to Keith once more while motioning for Shiro to sit down.

“Thank you for coming in,” she starts, and Shiro finally gets the chance to shoot a subtle glance at the name plaque on her desk that reads _Mrs. Holt_. “This won’t take long.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes, everything is fine,” she says assuringly. “Keith isn’t in trouble.”

Shiro manages to keep himself from heaving an enormous sigh of relief, although the way Keith seems to curl into himself ever so slightly out the corner of his eye makes him think he might beg to differ. He tries to pay attention to Mrs. Holt. “So what’s this about?”

Mrs. Holt opens one of the drawers of her file cabinet and starts thumbing through the folders. Keith squirms a little. She finds the one she’s looking for and pulls it out before sliding it across the desk toward Shiro. “Of course, it’s very early on in the year, so we haven’t had many homework assignments, but… take a look.”

She gestures toward the folder, and Shiro cautiously flips it open to find what looks like a very thin stack of math worksheets, and numbers and multiplication tables printed across the pages, and—doodles? He has to squint and hold the paper a little closer to his face to see, but sure enough, there are doodles. Just these—small little doodles scattered haphazardly across the pages, in the answer boxes underneath equations, between the margins, in the corners. He sees stars, and planets, and birds and plants—and they’re _good._

Keith is _good._

 _He likes to draw,_ Shiro thinks, feeling the excitement of the realization bubbling up in his chest. _He likes to draw, maybe I can do something with that. Maybe he’d be interested in some kind of weekend art class or a sketchbook or—_

It’s all so startlingly impressive that he forgets it’s also supposed to be problematic. Mrs. Holt clears her throat and Shiro snaps out of his thoughts to see her considering him, the corner of her mouth twitched up into an amused smile. “It seems you’ve got a budding artist on your hands.”

Shiro opens his mouth. Closes it. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Seems so.”

She smiles fully, warm and gentle. “As much as I love to see his artwork, I really need to see his schoolwork, too.” Keith continues to stare determinedly at the floor as she taps one of the sheets with a finger. “I know he understands these, if his work in class is anything to go by. He’s smart, that’s for sure. I just need some written confirmation.”

“I understand,” Shiro nods. “I—we’ll talk.”

Mrs. Holt responds with another smile and a nod of her own, sliding the folder back toward her. “Thank you. Unless you have any questions, I think this one is ready to go home.”

They both turn their attention toward Keith, still staring resolutely at the floor, lips pressed together and little hands curled loosely into fists on his knees.

“Home,” Shiro echoes. “Uh, yeah. Yes, we should probably be going. Thank you, Mrs. Holt.”

Keith finally moves when Shiro stands, grabbing his backpack from the floor and hauling it over his shoulders, keeping his eyes down all the while and hands clutching the straps.

“Bye, Keith,” Mrs. Holt calls as Shiro opens the door for them both. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” Keith mumbles, and then ducks out the door, Shiro offering one last appreciative smile and a wave before following.

Twenty minutes later, when Keith drops his backpack onto the ground and clambers into his seat at the table where (Shiro had thought) he’s been doing his homework each day after school, he just—sits. Eyes down, hands in his lap, looking very much like he had in Mrs. Holt’s office when Shiro arrived, like he’s still waiting for—oh. _Oh._

For a lecture. He’s waiting for a lecture. And Shiro wonders, briefly, just how many lectures he’s been given for them to become an expectation.

Shiro shuts the door behind him, slowly, hovering for a moment in the entryway of the hall. Keith, of course, continues to glare at the floor as if it’s personally wronged him, even as Shiro passes by him to go to his own room, and even when Shiro returns hardly seconds later to sit across from him. Keith’s fists clench a little tighter in his lap at the sound of Shiro sliding something toward him across the table’s surface.

Then Shiro pulls his hand back, and says: “Will you draw something for me?”

Keith freezes. _Literally_ freezes, shoulders tensing, eyes widening, and brows pulling together in confusion like everything has just taken an entirely different turn than he’d been expecting, just as Shiro had hoped. It’s the reaction that Shiro had hoped for, and yet it’s anticlimactic in a way that makes Shiro’s heart ache with something he can’t quite place. There’s a long, long _long_ moment of silence during which Keith slowly drags his gaze toward the blank sheet of paper and pencil now sitting directly in front of him, and then finally lifts his head and meets Shiro’s eyes for the first time all day.

“You—” He hesitates. “You want me to draw?”

Shiro nods.

Keith blinks, lips parted, brow still furrowed contemplatively, like he’s still processing the sudden change in direction. He looks back down at the paper, shifting a bit restlessly in his seat. “I dunno what to draw,” he mumbles.

“I like lions,” Shiro offers.

He waits patiently as Keith eyes the pencil briefly, then cautiously moves to pick it up between his fingers. There’s a moment where he falters, but only long enough to glance up uncertainly at Shiro again before he begins to draw.

One stroke of the pencil, and Keith is lost in it. Shiro sees it in the way his shoulders relax and his expression smooths out the longer he continues, becoming absorbed in the task at hand. He squints a little when he seems to be making a decision of where to go next, and every once in a while his tongue pokes out of his mouth when he’s particularly deep in concentration.

Before long, he’s sitting back with the faintest trace of a satisfied smile on his face, looking over his handiwork. Shiro tries not to be too obvious with the way he leans forward slightly to get a better look; luckily, Keith timidly pushes the paper back across the table before he has to try very hard.

Shiro might spend a little too much time staring down at what is very certainly the most impressive nine-year-old rendering of a lion that he’s ever seen. And he does feel bad for making Keith wait long enough that he starts to fidget in his chair, probably worrying about Shiro’s reaction (or lack thereof).

“Keith,” Shiro manages eventually, “this is amazing.”

Keith ducks his head, but not before Shiro sees the way his eyes widen imperceptibly and the slight flush to his cheeks. “It’s okay,” he mumbles.

“No, really.” Shiro taps the lion’s nose. “I had no idea you were so good at this.”

Keith squirms a little, eyes back on the floor. “I’m okay,” he repeats again, a little quieter.

“Do you like to draw?”

Shiro doesn’t like the way that Keith seems to hesitate again, like this isn’t something that he’s used to. He nods after a while, something small and careful that Shiro would have missed if he weren’t already watching for it. Shiro studies him for a moment, and then pushes the paper aside and leans forward in his chair.

“Tell you what. How about tomorrow after school, we stop by the store and I’ll buy you a sketchbook.”

Keith stills, eyebrows drawing back together.

Shiro continues. “That way you’ll have something to draw on other than your homework. And you can draw every day after school, as long as you do your homework first.”

Keith blinks at his knees. Lifts his head again to look at Shiro, expression puzzled but also—hopeful.

Shiro smiles. “Deal?” he asks softly.

And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that yet another faint, ghost of a smile flickers across Keith’s face.

“Okay.”

 

**3.**

To say that Shiro is nervous about inviting Adam over to meet Keith for the first time would be an understatement. He just prays that introducing his boyfriend to his sort-of-son-but-not won’t be a complete and utter disaster.

“He doesn’t talk a lot,” he tells Adam over the phone.

 _“So you’ve mentioned,”_ Adam sighs.

“He’s kind of intimidating.”

_“You’re intimidated by a nine-year-old?”_

“Also, he’s not very expressive, and you can never tell exactly what he’s thinking.”

_“Takashi—”_

_“And_ he doesn’t laugh at jokes. I had to learn that the hard way. Plus I have no idea how he’ll react if he finds out we’re—”

 _“Takashi!”_ Adam interrupts, a lightness to his tone that suggests he’s trying his very best not to laugh. _“Relax, sweetheart. Everything will be fine.”_

Yes. Everything is—fine.

The day goes on just like it always does. Shiro picks Keith up from school, takes him home, does some grading that he brought home from the Garrison while Keith does his homework. Key word being ‘some’, meaning he tried to grade papers but mostly spent that time worrying about the evening turning into one of the most awkward introductions of his entire life.

When the bell buzzes to signal Adam’s arrival, Keith’s head snaps up from where he’s been scribbling numbers onto a worksheet, watching curiously as Shiro leaps off the couch to answer. He can’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Adam standing on the other side of the door, a couple of grocery bags in hand.

“Hey, Adam. Thanks for coming.”

“Someone has to make sure the new kid doesn’t starve,” Adam replies, and promptly breezes past him before Shiro even has the chance to be offended.

Keith has slipped out of his chair when they wander back into the living room, presumably to see what all the fuss is about. His eyes narrow slightly at Adam’s appearance, one hand still resting on the table as he considers the new stranger, expression guarded.

Adam smiles when he spots him, big and bright. “Hello. You must be Keith.”

No response. Keith only blinks. Adam remains unfazed.

“I’m Adam.”

Silence. Keith’s fingers might twitch a little. Shiro resists the urge to sink onto the couch and hide under the cushions.

Adam approaches the table and sets down his handful of groceries, ignoring Keith’s suspicious gaze and shrugging nonchalantly. “I don’t think he can talk.”

And that, apparently, was just the thing to say to get Keith to do just that. He frowns, and his arm slides off the table to hang by his side. “I can talk.”

“Oh?” Adam raises an eyebrow as he looks back at Keith. He squats down to level with him, and Keith glares at him the whole way. “What else can you do?”

Keith presses his lips together and puffs out his chest the slightest bit as if in defiance. “I can draw,” he announces. Shiro can hardly believe what he’s witnessing.

“Bold claim,” Adam hums, tapping his chin. “I’ll need to see some evidence.”

“I can show you.”

“Another bold claim. Takashi?”

Shiro doesn’t even realize that he’s staring at the two of them, looking so different and out of place from each other, like two pieces from separate puzzles. And yet it doesn’t necessarily seem… wrong. There’s something about the picture that makes— _something—_ tickle somewhere deep in his chest, itching to make its way to the surface.

Adam clears his throat and Shiro snaps back to the present to see both he and Keith staring back. “Oh! I, uh—” He takes a breath, ignoring Adam’s poor attempt at stifling a laugh and directing his attention toward Keith. “Have you finished your homework?”

Keith nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Keith says.

“Great,” Adam agrees, clapping and rubbing his hands together as he pushes himself back up. “Draw me a spaceship while I start dinner. I’m here to cook you and Takashi some actual food.”

And Keith, to Shiro’s complete and utter amazement—quiet, standoffish, taciturn Keith—honest to god _smiles._ “Yeah, he can’t cook.”

Shiro makes a sputtering noise somewhere between surprise and protest. “Hey!”

But he can’t quite bring himself to stay offended when Adam laughs, and Keith’s smile grows, just like the _something_ that’s already begun to make its home in Shiro’s chest.

Adam makes pasta for dinner. Shiro doesn’t quite finish his plate because he spends a little too much time watching Keith twirl his noodles around his fork and giggle (giggle!) when Adam purposely slurps his up. Later, Adam pretends to be having a hard time choosing a movie to watch, and Shiro watches a little more while they dig through Shiro’s collection of movies. Keith picks _Aladdin_ and Shiro tries not to feel disappointed when he climbs onto the couch beside Adam, though that might just be because Adam’s holding the popcorn.

They decide to call it a night when Keith falls asleep curled up against the arm of the couch while Aladdin is trying to rescue Jasmine from Jafar.

“I think he likes you better than me,” Shiro says at the door, voice quiet to avoid the risk of waking Keith.

Adam scoffs, still trying to shove one of his feet back into his shoe. “That’s not true.”

“I think it is.”

“I think it’s not.”

“It is.”

“Takashi,” Adam sighs.

“You know he still hasn’t unpacked his suitcase?”

Adam stills, giving up on his shoe and looking up with his brow furrowed. “It’s been two months.”

Shiro folds his arms and leans back against the wall, glancing over at Keith’s sleeping form on the couch. When he doesn’t say anything after a moment, Adam slowly leans back against the other side of the wall to mirror him, one corner of his mouth curled up into a small, sympathetic smile.

“You think it’s your fault,” Adam says softly.

Shiro resists the urge to scowl at his feet. He shrugs lightly, going for nonchalant but falling far short. “Who else?”

Adam keeps quiet, but from the look on his face Shiro can tell it has more to do with the fact that he thinks he’s wrong, rather than right. He slips his hands into his pockets, and across from him Shiro finds his gaze drawn back to Keith. His cheek is pressed against the arm folded over the edge of the couch, curled up underneath the blanket that Shiro had carefully laid over him, looking so young and small with the glow of the television washing over him.

It makes something pinch and twist at his heart with want, for that to become something normal. For it to be _normal,_ for Keith to fall asleep during a movie with a full stomach and someone there to put a blanket over his shoulders, so he doesn’t get cold.

“I just—” The words come to him so suddenly, full of guilt and frustration and maybe anger toward the people in Keith’s past who had been so quick to push him away. “I don’t know how to convince him that I’m not leaving him. Or giving him up, like everyone else has. I’m not doing that to him. I don’t—” He lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair and returning his eyes to the floor. “I want him to know that.”

Adam remains silent, head tilted slightly to the side as he watches Shiro’s quiet battle with himself. He says the silence is good for Shiro to process. Shiro supposes he’s right.

“Maybe Keith wants to leave,” he murmurs to himself, like an afterthought that sends a fleeting jolt of panic through his chest.

Something about that is apparently funny, because Adam lets out a huff of laughter and shakes his head, adjusting his glasses. “Are you kidding?”

Shiro frowns at him. “I’m being serious.”

Adam mostly ignores him. “Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”

“What?”

“He’s always watching you, when you’re not looking.”

“What do you mean?”

Adam nods his head slightly in the direction of the living room. “Exhibit A.”

Shiro follows his gesture, confused, and blinks when he sees Keith’s head quickly drop back to the edge of the couch, hair falling into his face like he’d just been looking their way. He flounders a little while Adam bites his lip to hold back a smile. “He’s watching _us,”_ Shiro protests, lowering his voice to make sure Keith, who is pretending once more to be asleep, doesn’t hear. “He’s—it’s both of us.”

“Whatever you say,” Adam hums, pushing himself away from the wall and reaching for the door. He glances back as it creaks open to make sure Keith isn’t watching again, and leans across the hall to press a small kiss to Shiro’s cheek. “Give it time,” he murmurs, with a gentle squeeze to his arm and a smile, then Shiro’s gaze follows him until the door has fully closed and he’s left standing in the dark of the little hallway.

He stares for a while at the door, the wall, his feet. Chews on his lip, a bad habit he’s still trying to break, and runs a hand through his hair again, which Adam claims is starting to get too long. When his eyes drift back toward the living room, Keith is propped up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes sleepily—or pretending to, anyway. Shiro doesn’t say anything about it.

“Hey,” he says, walking out of the hallway and picking up the remote to switch off the television. “Ready for bed?” Keith just nods as he pushes himself up, the blanket slipping off his back when he slides onto the floor with a quiet _thump._ Almost like an afterthought, he reaches back and pulls the blanket around his neck, draping it over his shoulders. Shiro blinks down at him, smiling. “You look like you’re wearing a cape.”

Keith blinks right back up at him. It looks like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re weird,” he says at last, and then turns on his heel and pitter-patters down the hallway to his room to get ready for bed, blanket billowing behind him, just like a cape.

Shiro thinks that’s the nicest thing Keith has ever said to him.

 

**4.**

Shiro isn’t usually a particularly panicky person.

He likes to think of himself as relatively calm. Level-headed, easy-going, cool and collected, even when under pressure. Once the power went out while he was in the shower, and he didn’t even scream (the fact that there was still enough light coming in through the bathroom window for him to be able to see is irrelevant).

 _Anyway._ Panicking isn’t usually his thing.

Operative word, being: usually.

And yet, when he glances in the rearview mirror one day after school to ask Keith about his day, only to see him sitting in the backseat with his head bowed, hands curled into fists in his lap and tears glittering at the corners of his eyes—he panics.

For the record, Keith has never cried before. Or at least, Shiro has never seen Keith cry before. So considering the fact that he relatively rarely expresses emotion through anything other than a tiny occasional smile or frustrated pout, this is slightly terrifying and Shiro likes to think that his panic is warranted.

So he panics all the way to the apartment, and when Keith walks straight past the table where he normally sits to do his homework, and when his bedroom door shuts with just a bit more force than usual and Shiro is left standing in the middle of the living room wondering what in the _world_ he’s supposed to do.

He thinks about calling Adam.

“What would Adam do,” he mutters to himself, pacing anxiously back and forth in front of the television.

He does not call Adam.

He does, in fact, find himself standing outside Keith’s bedroom door after at least ten minutes of internal debate over whether or not he should make an attempt at communication. A safe first bet, at the very least.

There’s no answer when he knocks on the door; not that he was expecting one. Although one would have been nice, after the three or so minutes of hyping himself up to do so. He waits a moment longer, then takes a deep breath, and cautiously twists the knob to push the door open and peek inside.

Immediately, his eyes fall on Keith’s small form sitting at the edge of the bed, knees tucked up to his chest and chin propped on his folded arms as he glares at the floor. All traces of his earlier tears are gone, except for the drying streaks on either side of his face that are almost enough to make Shiro turn around and walk right back out of the room. He’s still not quite sure what he’s doing, but he supposes he’ll learn as he goes.

He pushes the door open a little wider. “Keith?”

Keith starts slightly, quickly ducking his head and scrubbing at his face as Shiro steps inside, leaving the door open and moving to sit carefully at the other side of the bed. He keeps quiet while Keith wipes at his nose with his jacket sleeve, looking worn from years of restless tugging and chewing. Shiro wonders if he should buy him a new one. But back to the matter at hand.

“Hey,” he says softly, heart already sinking in his chest when Keith’s shoulders tense. “Did something happen at school today?”

Keith doesn’t reply. If anything, he only seems to make himself smaller, hugging his knees tightly enough that they knock together in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Shiro quickly amends. “But if there’s something you want to talk about—”

“How come Adam calls you Takashi?”

Shiro pauses mid-sentence, mouth hanging open while he blinks over at Keith. He’d spoken so quietly, at first Shiro thinks he must have imagined it. Also… he’s not quite sure how this is relevant, but he supposes he’ll take what he can get. “Oh. I—well, because that’s my name, I guess.”

Keith sniffs a little. “That’s not what you told me to call you.”

Shiro opens his mouth again. Closes it. Even after a number of visits, Shiro still hasn’t told Keith the exact nature of his and Adam’s relationship. He wasn’t expecting that to change so soon. “Right,” he says eventually, tapping his boot on the floor. “Well, Adam is… uh, different.”

It’s silent for a moment, Keith staring down at the floor like he’s trying to collect his thoughts. Then he shifts slightly, fingers twisting in the fabric of his sleeves. “Do you—” He hesitates. Shiro waits patiently, trying his best to fill in the gaps but falling far short. “Do you, um—like him? As in—” Keith bites down on his lip, unfinished, but at this point Shiro doesn’t need him to.

Maybe they’d been too obvious, somehow. Matt would probably attribute it to something like ‘longing stares’ across the room, which is absolutely ridiculous and Shiro consistently denies, anyway. Either way, he decides it may be better to go ahead and rip off the Band-Aid, although he’d hoped to break the news a bit more slowly.

“Actually—” He clears his throat and takes a breath. “Adam is my boyfriend.”

Shiro thinks he’s more surprised by the fact that Keith’s reaction is pretty much nonexistent, as if the answer doesn’t surprise _him_ in the slightest. In fact, it’s almost as if he were expecting it, if his next question is any indication.

“Do people ever call you weird?”

It suddenly strikes Shiro as odd, that Keith is asking him a question like that, unless there were some kind of prompting. And then the realization of the entire conversation’s underlying implications practically hits Shiro over the side of the head like a freight train, and he has to force his unhinged jaw back into place to hide it. Because why would any of this really matter to Keith, unless…?

“Keith,” Shiro starts gently, careful not to pry. “Did someone call you weird today?”

Keith’s mouth twists into a frown, teeth tugging at his bottom lip. For a brief moment Shiro is afraid he’s going to start crying, and then he’ll _really_ be in trouble. But then Keith tucks his hands between his knees and fixes his gaze determinedly on the floor.

“I said—” He hesitates, voice growing small. “I said I like a boy at school,” he mumbles, and Shiro feels his heart _literally_ swell in his chest. “And some of the other kids laughed at me and said I’m weird.”

Shiro already knew that a lot about this situation was way above his pay grade. Not that he’s getting paid for this, but that’s completely beside the point. Because his heart has already done a complete one-eighty and plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

He’s used to it himself. Most people have the sense to mind their own business, but he’s seen his fair share of unapproving stares and not-so-subtle whispers when he and Adam are out and about. But for something like that to happen to Keith? At _nine years old?_ It really, truly makes him sick to his stomach to think about. He wonders if anyone has ever even told Keith that it’s _okay._

“Do you want pizza for dinner?” he asks rather abruptly, surprising even himself.

Keith doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls his jacket sleeve over his hand and wipes at his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Shiro agrees. “I’ll go order some.” He stands from the bed and goes to the door, turning back with his hand on the doorknob. “Pepperoni or sausage?” He asks, because he knows Keith is still learning how to ask for the things he wants. Keith just shrugs, wiping at his nose again. “Cheese?” Shiro tries again.

Keith shrugs once more, this time accompanied by a small: “Sure.”

Shiro cheers internally. “Cheese pizza it is, then. And maybe—if you want.” Keith turns his head just a fraction to look at him, and Shiro offers a small smile. “We can talk a little more, while we eat. About boys.”

Keith’s cheeks flush pink and his eyes flick back down to the floor, but Shiro doesn’t miss the way that his shoulders seem to loosen. “Okay,” he repeats, quieter, and something that feels a lot like pride wells up in Shiro’s chest.

It certainly wouldn’t be the last time.

(When he drops Keith off at school the next morning, he stays long enough to see another little boy with brown hair and bright eyes and a big smile run to Keith and excitedly shove a book into his hands. Keith smiles at him all the way inside.

“Who’s your friend?” Shiro asks later, when he comes back to pick Keith up.

Keith freezes a little from his place in the back and ducks his head, probably to hide the pink already dusting his cheeks. He shifts a little, pulling at his fingers. “Lance,” he says, just short of a mumble.

Shiro hums. “Maybe we can have him over sometime for a movie night.”

Keith kicks his feet. “Maybe.”

They settle into what Shiro hopes is a comfortable silence, as he pulls out of the school’s parking lot and out onto the road, past the flashing yellow lights of the school zone. He lets it linger for a minute or so before he glances at Keith in the rearview mirror to see him peering out the window. “Do you want to talk about him?”

For a brief moment, Keith seems to consider this. “Not right now,” is what he eventually replies. Shiro decides that’s a substantial step up from a ‘no’.

They go on quietly for a little while, except for the usual radio playing softly from the front and the sounds of the road and of the world passing by.

“He let me borrow his book,” Keith says after a moment.

Shiro is helpless to the smile that tugs at his lips, but he keeps his gaze ahead and eyes on the road. “That’s very nice of him.”

Keith says nothing else, but when Shiro sneaks another look at him in the mirror, he doesn’t miss the small smile on his face while he hugs the book in his arms just a little bit tighter.)

 

**5.**

Keith is having a bad dream.

In a way, Shiro had been prepared. The one useful and accurate piece of information that the foster care agency had been able to give him about Keith was that he had a history of occasional nightmares. They’d never been able to get much out of him, other than that they most likely had to do with the same fire that his father died in, according to their resident child psychologist.

Still—this is a lot different than anything else he’s had to handle so far.

It’s the first time that Shiro has experienced it firsthand. He’s only lucky that he happened to check on Keith before he went to bed himself.

Keith’s body is trembling. His fingers clutch tightly at his bedsheets, and tears trickle down his face and drip onto his pillow and seep into the fabric. By the time that Shiro finally manages to wake him up, he’s started to let out quiet whimpers, turning to bury his face against the pillow.

A gentle nudge to the shoulder isn’t quite enough. “Keith,” he murmurs. Keith shudders slightly in his sleep, a strand of hair falling into his face and sticking to the wet streaks there. Shiro carefully pushes it away and shakes his shoulder again, harder this time. “Keith—”

Keith starts awake with a small gasp and Shiro immediately pulls away, watching worriedly as he rolls over, blinking furiously. He sounds like he tries to take a deep breath, but it shakes too much to get much air and he has to try again, until his eyes land on Shiro still hovering over him. He yelps and abruptly jerks away, scrambling backward until his back hits the wall on the other side of the bed.

“Whoa, hey. It’s just me,” Shiro soothes, holding his hands out placatingly. “It’s okay. You were just having a bad dream.” Keith only stares at him, sheets bunched up in his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest uneven like he’s still trying to catch his breath.

Shiro’s palms itch with the need to reach out and comfort him somehow, but he’s not sure how. Keith hasn’t exactly shown himself to be a very touchy person, so Shiro doesn’t know that any sort of touchy gesture would be appreciated. He slowly retracts his hands, opening his mouth to speak and then hesitating.

“I’ll be right back,” he decides. He quickly exits back out into the hallway and hurries to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water and snatching an extra blanket from the living room on his way back, just in case. He goes back for Keith’s sketchbook still lying on the table as an afterthought, and then comes back down the hallway to Keith’s room.

Keith still hasn’t moved from his place in the dark, although at the very least his breathing seems to be steady again. He watches silently as Shiro sets the water down on the bedside table alongside his sketchbook, then places the blanket at the foot of the bed and steps back, satisfied yet unsure of what else to do.

“Are you alright?” he asks lamely.

Keith continues to stare at him. And in that moment he just looks so _small,_ and afraid, and alone, and Shiro wants nothing more than to prove to him that he doesn’t have to feel that way anymore. Because he’d promised himself, and Keith, that he would be different than all of his previous foster families and foster homes. Shiro wants to be both. He pushes a hand through the thick of his hair, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Um… there’s some water if you need it. And a blanket in case you’re cold, and your sketchbook, if you want to stay up and draw for a little while.”

He sees Keith blink back at him through the dark, still looking a bit shaken but composed enough now to respond if he wants to. Shiro tries not to feel disappointed when he doesn’t. He slowly retreats to the door, pausing to rest a hand on the threshold.

“I’m right down the hall,” he adds softly. “Come get me if you need anything, okay?”

The door creaks slightly as he starts to pull it shut, but then—

“Will you stay?” Keith blurts.

It surprises them both. Shiro stills immediately, hand slipping from the doorknob and hanging suspended in the air; Keith’s eyes widen and his shoulders stiffen, like he hadn’t really meant to say it. For a moment it’s as if there’s a sort of tension in the air, like they’re about to take a step into some new, unexplored territory that neither of them are very familiar with. And right now it’s up to Shiro to decide whether or not they do.

So he quickly shakes himself out of his momentary stupor, and carefully pushes the door back open. “Of course I will.” His heart aches at the way that Keith’s entire body seems to relax, shoulders sinking with a tiny exhale when Shiro steps back into the room. “Should I come over there?”

Keith’s eyes fall, shifting uncertainly where his back is still pressed against the wall. “If you want to,” he mumbles.

He keeps quiet as Shiro approaches the bed, reaching out to carefully lift the sheets. Keith hesitates briefly, and then finally unfolds and cautiously wiggles underneath, turning over to face the wall. Shiro follows, mindful to keep his distance, and settles the sheets over their shoulders.

Hardly a minute has gone by before Keith is rolling over onto his other side to look at him, as if to make sure that he’s still there. Shiro offers a small smile. “I’m right here.”

Keith blinks, once, chewing on his lip. His brow furrows. “I’m not scared,” he says, even though no one had suggested it.

Shiro doesn’t say anything about it. He smiles again. “I know,” he says softly.

Keith blinks once more, then averts his gaze as he moves slightly. Shiro isn’t sure how well he manages to mask his surprise when he feels Keith’s hand slipping into his underneath the sheets, but Keith isn’t looking at him anyway. He quickly recovers and cautiously wraps his fingers around Keith’s hand, squeezing gently in sync with the pressure suddenly squeezing his heart.

“You can get a little closer,” Keith mumbles, mostly into his pillow.

So Shiro does, without much thought. He keeps a careful hold on Keith’s hand and inches closer until Keith chooses to let go, and after a brief moment’s hesitation curls up against Shiro’s chest. Shiro brings his arm around Keith’s back and settles it lightly over his shoulder. “Alright?”

Keith nods slightly, ruffling his hair against Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro turns his head back to stare up at the ceiling, letting out a long, slow, quiet breath. He looks back down at Keith. “You can wake me up if you need to.”

A short pause. “Okay,” Keith says quietly.

It doesn’t take all that long for Keith to fall back asleep. Even so, Shiro remains awake long after, listening to the sound of Keith’s small breaths, and thinking about the feeling of Keith curled up into his chest, looking smaller and more vulnerable than Shiro has ever seen him. And he thinks, for the first time, with all the certainty that his heart will allow, that he loves him.

He loves Keith.

Keith may not be ready to hear it, but Shiro is ready to do everything in his power to show it to him.

When he comes to wake Keith up for breakfast the next morning, he’s right where Shiro left him. Although now he’s awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed and hunched over his sketchbook, wiggling his socked toes while he draws.

This is usually how their mornings go. Only this time, there’s an empty suitcase lying beside him, and a dresser drawer against the wall left slightly open where a loose T-shirt must have been smushed inside. Shiro is so busy staring that he doesn’t realize Keith has lifted his head from his sketchbook to look at him.

“Hi,” he says.  

Shiro starts a little, turning again to refocus on Keith. “Oh—good morning. Breakfast?” he stutters out in a bit of a flustered rush.

Keith just nods, setting his sketchbook aside and sliding onto the floor. Shiro steps aside and lets Keith out into the hallway, watching his retreating back and fluffy bedhead (Adam keeps telling him he needs a haircut) before glancing back into the bedroom one last time. He bites his lip to suppress an incredulous smile and the swelling of his heart, and then turns to follow Keith.

They eat breakfast together. Keith slurps up his leftover chocolate cereal milk and dumps his bowl in the sink, and he’s already halfway down the hallway to his room when he comes to a stop and wheels back around to peek at Shiro over the table.

“Thanks for breakfast, Shiro.” And then he hurries off to get ready for school but he misses the way Shiro smiles at his back.

He doesn’t realize until later, that this was the first time Keith had called him Shiro.

 

**+1**

Shiro has been looking forward to this day since he first signed the papers.

He picks Keith up from school like he always does. Keith stands from one of the little curbside benches and comes to the car, clambering into the backseat and shoving his backpack into the floor.

Shiro beams at him. “Hi, Keith.”

“Hi,” Keith answers, pulling his door shut.

“How was school?”

Keith shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Shiro agrees. And then: “Do you like ice cream?”

Keith goes quiet for a beat, as if to contemplate his question. “Ice cream?” he echoes, and Shiro smiles at the subtle note of hopefulness in his voice that he’s learned to pick up on.

“Yeah, ice cream. What’s your favorite flavor?”

Another beat. “I like vanilla.”

 _Progress,_ Shiro thinks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A pause, like Keith’s not sure he should continue. “With chocolate sprinkles.”

There’s something so innocent about it all, about the way Keith’s eyebrows scrunch and fingers fiddle with the zipper of his jacket and lips purse in thought. It’s a side of him that Shiro doesn’t get to see very often—a bit softer around the edges, like he’s managed to get through that first line of defense and figure out just who Keith is.

“How about we go get some?”

Keith bites his lip, but the eager gleam in his eyes is unmistakable. “Really?”

Shiro twists back around in his seat to face the front and starts the car. “Seatbelt.”

Keith doesn’t need to be told twice.

When they arrive at the ice cream shop, Keith all but falls out of the car in his anticipation. Shiro can see his quiet excitement in the way that his mouth keeps twitching like he’s trying not to smile, and in the slight bounce to his step that wasn’t there before. When they get into line, Keith stands on his tiptoes to peek through the glass as they move along, watching one of the employees scoop some strawberry ice cream for another customer.

“Hi there!” He looks up from the selection of flavors when another reaches them. “What can I get for you guys?”

Keith glances up at Shiro, who smiles back. “Still want vanilla?” Keith nods, and Shiro turns back to the employee. “Two cups of vanilla with chocolate sprinkles, please.”

A moment later and Shiro is accepting both cups over the counter. He’s hardly handed Keith’s to him before he’s picking an excess sprinkle off the top of his ice cream and popping it into his mouth.

The employee chuckles as he rings up their order. “Anything else for you or your brother there?”

Shiro blinks. Keith turns his attention away from his sprinkles long enough to frown up at the employee—not upset, although maybe a bit nonplussed. “He’s not my—”

“That’s everything,” Shiro hears himself say, handing some cash over the register. “Thank you.”

He’s very aware of Keith’s little head snapping toward him and staring, brows still pulled together in clear confusion as the employee gives Shiro his change. Shiro thanks him again, and shoots one last smile at Keith before turning away and leaving him no other option than to follow.

He chooses two seats tucked away in the far corner of the shop, afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows and dancing across the smooth tabletop. Keith still seems puzzled, climbing slowly into his chair with his ice cream cup clutched between his hands; but he’s easily distracted once again by his sprinkles, and his expression melts back into that childlike excitement that makes Shiro’s heart warm.

Shiro tries not to laugh when Keith stabs his ice cream and shovels nearly half a scoop into his mouth. “You’re gonna get a brain freeze.”

Keith actually squints at him, one hand still raised to the spoon stuck in his mouth. “My brain is fine,” he insists around his ice cream.

Shiro huffs a laugh and shakes his head as Keith licks the rest of the ice cream off his spoon and dives in for another bite. “Hey, I have something else for you.”

Curiosity piqued, Keith lifts his head just in time to watch Shiro place a small gift bag on the table between them. And Keith—stares at it. And stares, and stares, until the leftover ice cream still stuck to his spoon starts to slide off as it begins to soften.

“That’s—” he starts, haltingly. “That’s for me?”

Shiro nods. Keith stares some more. And then, slowly, when he seems to realize that Shiro is serious, sets his spoon down and slides the bag closer to him. Shiro watches expectantly as he cautiously, delicately removes the tissue paper from the top and sets it aside, then reaches in and pulls out a brand new pack of colored pencils.

He stares at that, too.

The silence that follows stretches on just long enough that Shiro starts to worry. “They’re for your sketchbook,” he explains quickly. “Because—I just thought maybe you’d like some, so you can start coloring the things you draw.”

Keith still doesn’t respond, his expression returning to something confused—thoughtful, even, like it had been in the car at school, and when they left the register to sit down. Shiro’s heart sinks a little.

“If you don’t like them, I can take you to get something else—”

“Is it my birthday?”

Shiro mind goes entirely blank. His heart practically stops, and the temperature in the room suddenly seems to plummet until his spine runs cold with realization, all while gaping uselessly at Keith, whose eyes are still fixed on the colored pencils. All this time, he’d thought that Keith hadn’t said anything about it leading up to today because he didn’t want to cause a fuss, but really it was because—

“You—” Shiro’s voice cracks. “Keith… you didn’t know?”

Keith almost looks as horrified as Shiro feels, fingers tightening around the pack of colored pencils, eyes wider than usual. A short moment of quiet passes, and then, voice small: “I forgot.”

Shiro is still, and then he wordlessly pushes his ice cream aside, gaze never leaving Keith. “Keith,” he says softly. Keith’s eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t look up. “Do you know how old you are?”

A tense pause. “Ten, I think,” Keith answers quietly.

Shiro relaxes, but only slightly. Even so, his heart has sunk so far down he swears he can feel it oozing into the pit of his stomach. _When’s the last time he’s been able to celebrate his birthday?_

It’s fallen quiet again in their little bubble, the noise of other customers coming and going and the music playing overhead all sounding very muffled and distant as Shiro grapples for something to say. Then he doesn’t have to, because Keith sets down the pack and blinks at the table.

“My pa used to get ice cream with me on my birthday.”

Shiro holds his breath. “Yeah?” he murmurs.

Keith, eyes remaining steadfast on the table, nods carefully, as if he’s just told Shiro something meant to be kept secret.

Shiro hesitates. “What else did you do?” he asks quietly.

Keith chews on his lip and kicks his feet a little, eyes drifting toward his little ice cream cup. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “Stuff, I guess.”

The bell chimes as another customer walks through the door. Shiro remains silent for a moment longer, but it doesn’t take him long to come to a decision and make a new plan. He pushes Keith’s ice cream cup back toward him. “Well,” he starts, and Keith glances timidly up at him. “I guess we’ll have to do some stuff today.”

Another chime. Keith’s fingers twitch a little. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Shiro picks up his spoon. He pauses. “Happy birthday, Keith.”

Then he stabs his ice cream and shovels nearly half a scoop into his mouth, and Keith hides his giggles behind his cup.

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

Shiro takes him to the movies later, after they “happen” to see Adam at the bookstore (Shiro texted him to meet them there from the ice cream shop) and gone to the park to feed the ducks (“I don’t think they like you very much,” Keith had said on the way back to the car, because the majority of the ducks had quacked at him and somehow made it sound threatening).

They mull over their options at the ticket booth and Shiro pretends to have a hard time choosing just like Adam had done the night they were introduced, and it totally works because eventually Keith says the new Spider-Man movie looks okay, which means he definitely really wants to see it. Shiro buys their tickets and takes them inside to get in line for popcorn. Keith sticks close to his side and slips his hand into Shiro’s when it gets a little too crowded, and Shiro buys Keith a slushie after he sees him eyeing the machines.

The events of the day must have tired Keith out, because he falls asleep toward the end of the movie, curled up in his seat and popcorn butter smeared on his fingers. Shiro gently scoops him up while the credits are rolling, careful not to wake him.

He stirs slightly when they get outside, hair tickling Shiro’s neck where his head rests against his shoulder. “S’over?” he slurs sleepily.

Shiro smiles. “Yeah, it’s over. We’re going home. You can go back to sleep if you want to.”

Keith makes a small noise of agreement, little hands holding fast around Shiro’s neck as he starts across the parking lot for the car. For a moment, he thinks Keith has fallen back asleep, until he shifts again and settles himself further against Shiro’s chest.

“I’ve never had a brother before,” he mumbles into the thick of Shiro’s sweater.

Shiro almost stumbles to a stop right there in the parking lot. And he might have, if he weren’t afraid of tripping and dropping Keith in the process. His heart aches desperately.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Me neither,” he whispers.

“I like it.”

Shiro swallows, breathes in, and then lets out a quiet sigh. He lets his arm curl a little tighter around Keith’s sleepy form, and turns to press a light kiss to Keith’s temple. Because suddenly, the distance that once existed between the two of them seems that much less.

“Me too, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


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